


Mirage

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I'm not entirely sure what we did last night, but we did something,</i> he thought to himself. <i>I've no clothes and he doesn't seem to have clothes and fuck, I should pretend to be asleep so he can slip out and pretend this never happened.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at this fandom, so I'm just sort of feeling things out. Comments are very welcome, I would like to find some other Wallander fans.

Magnus awoke to a pounding headache, a square of strong morning light slanted across his face, and the pale comma of Kurt's body beside him in the bed. It was his own apartment, although it felt slightly unfamiliar now due to Kurt's presence. The room still smelled of wine, now sour and staining the glasses on the small bedside table.

He pulled the sheet up over his legs. The bed wasn't quite large enough for the both of them, and Magnus knew he couldn't crawl over Kurt without waking him up. So he laid back down. He tried to breathe slowly, willing the throb in his temples to lessen, if he could relax again. 

They'd gotten horribly, ridiculously, stinking drunk. Magnus had to search his memory for a second to recall if he'd vomited or not. He didn't, in fact, remember. What he did remember was everyone at the pub, the whole team. And then people leaving one by one, first Lisa begging off, then Anne-Britt with Nyberg. He and Kurt had stayed, drinking more than talking, until the place closed. Then Magnus had said, "I've got a couple bottles of some red back at my place, if you want," and they'd gone.

"I spend too many nights doing this," Kurt had said, looking down into his glass, then then up at Magnus. 

"Drinking with co-workers?"

"Drinking in general."

"Hmm." Magnus took a mouthful of his own wine. It was both bitter and slightly sweet, sort of jammy on his tongue. He was no red wine expert; he only bought what was priced decently. "So why are we still imbibing, then?"

Kurt chuckled. Magnus leaned back against the sofa, said, "Do you even like me, Kurt?"

"You're fine, Magnus."

"No, I mean -" 

"You mean, do I think you're a shit policeman?"

"That, yes," Magnus said, and took another swallow of wine.

Kurt looked over at him. There was a slight smile on his face, and he rubbed his thumb over the rim of the glass. "You make me feel old."

"You're not old," he laughed.

"Well, what am I, then?"

"You're just a little... inflexible."

"Inflexible," Kurt grumbled into his drink with a frown, and Magnus had started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more, until he'd slid sideways into Kurt, completely unprofessionally, managing not to spill as he went. "Someone told me once I was so uncool it was tragic," Kurt said, and it was mostly muffled in Magnus' hair.

"But you are uncool," he'd hiccuped, and hadn't moved. 

Now, he wiggled down further in the bed, enough to tug a few centimeters of the blankets away form Kurt, who barely stirred. Magnus looked at his watch. Still early, and unless either of their phones rang, they didn't have to go to the office today. He could wait for Kurt to wake up. _I'm not entirely sure what we did last night, but we did something,_ he thought to himself. _I've no clothes and he doesn't seem to have clothes and fuck, I should pretend to be asleep so he can slip out and pretend this never happened._

He'd nearly dozed off again when the distinct chime of Kurt's phone jolted them both. A groan, and then he heard Kurt groping off the edge of the bed for the thing. "Wallander."

Magnus turned over. 

"Yes, of course." Then, "Magnus."

"Yeah?"

"There's been a stabbing."

"Of course there has," he muttered, and sat up. The room tilted, then steadied. He swallowed against the spinning. "I need aspirin before we go anywhere at all," he said hoarsely, and crawled out of the bed and into the bathroom. He left the door open, and in the reflection from the medicine cabinet, he could see Kurt sorting out their clothes. 

He shook the bottle in the air. "Do you..."

"Yeah, thanks." Kurt came close, half dressed. "Magnus, I -"

"I was really fucking drunk," Magnus interrupted him. "So if you want to forget about it, we can."

Kurt gave him a sour look and took the bottle of aspirin. He shook out two tablets and chewed them dry, despite Magnus waving at the sink. "I'm going to run home; I'll meet you at the scene."

"...right."

"Now's not the time. I'll bring you a coffee?"

Kurt had never brought him a coffee, so Magnus felt his skepticism was justified. "With sugar."

"Fine. With sugar." Kurt reached out and touched his neck lightly, and Magnus startled at the press of his fingers. "You might want to cover that up."

"What? Fuck." He whirled back to the mirror to inspect the hickey. 

Kurt huffed at him, then turned back to the bedroom floor as Magnus brushed his teeth furiously. "Leaving!" Kurt called over his shoulder once he'd put on his socks, Magnus watching him hop about the room to do it. 

"What's the address?" Magnus yelled after him, but Kurt was already gone. "Jerk," he muttered under his breath, even though the station dispatch could tell him the address, and went to see about his own clothes.


End file.
